Visions
by TMBlue
Summary: After returning home from the longest case in his career, Ron contemplates his choices, his future, and the looming threat of his death.


_**A/N:** Oh, hi. So, I just found this basically completed part one of a two part fic that I had started probably more than six months ago. I finished up a few details today and figured I'd go ahead and post part one so that I'd kick my own ass to get part two done... And just so it's not the worst that I ended it where I did, keep in mind that there is more coming! More from Ron's POV, so... You'll get it. See you at the end._

 _Oh, one more thing: SMUT WARNING._

* * *

 **Visions: Part 1**

Swearing under his breath, Ron worked his way down the hall inside their flat, toward the loo. He'd made too much noise already, shutting the front door. He should have shielded the sound from her, but it was too late to think of that. He'd considered apparating directly into the bathroom, but he'd been afraid to startle her, likely to wake from her light slumber at the crack of his arrival. While he'd learned the comfort of her arms, the safety of being at peace with his life, she'd never let go of instinct - to be ready, at all times, to face the worst. He subconsciously feared it was his own fault, his bloody career tugging her along through a life of surface-deep anxiety. He knew how hard it had been to accept the safety of "over" once the war had ended. But if he kept fighting, it wasn't really over, was it.

He left the loo door open a crack and began to strip down - sweaty socks, dirty robes, a blood-stained shirt, ripped trousers…He winced as his fingertips grazed the large gash across his chest. He could wash and heal it up before she'd notice, if he was careful.

He climbed into the tub, turning the faucets on and allowing the calming spray of the shower to lull his tired eyes shut as he stood beneath it. He ached to crawl into bed next to her, feeling the sweet comfort of her soft form and delicate scent, all around him. He missed her terribly, even when he'd been gone less than a day. So, nearly a month apart was at the very far end of what he could stand.

He'd just swept his soaked hair back from his eyes, ready to work on his injury, when he heard a muffled sound of surprise, from the other side of the shower curtain. He froze… and blinked running water from his eyes.

"Ron?" her sleepy voice called out to him.

"Yeah," he said raspily back. "I'm okay. Just filthy. Give me a tick to finish-"

But she wasn't listening anymore. Her small hand was pulling back the curtain, and he cringed, awaiting the sweeping of her glistening eyes down his naked body. As she came into view, he tried to give her a smile, turning up the corner of his mouth as he took in the sight of her. God, she looked wonderful. She was wearing one of his shirts, wrinkled from sleep, her hair teased all around her head, her pink nose sniffing as she surveyed him.

But, instead of words, she dropped the curtain back into place, separating them once again. He cleared his throat and stared, willing her back to face him again, despite having moments ago wished for her to leave him, long enough to make himself presentable. He knew his injury wasn't serious, and he was sure she knew it, too. But the absurd reality he lived in dictated that she _cared_ , anyway. Far more than he could have known, before. She cared so much about him that he could physically feel it. His chest would tighten, and his eyes would soften, when she'd look at him that way. That _way_ he realised, now, he longed to see.

"Prat," he muttered under his breath. He'd wanted to protect her from pain; but now, he simply wanted her in his arms.

She complied his unspoken request, almost instantly, climbing, naked, into the shower with him.

She licked her bottom lip and looked up into his eyes. The moment she met his gaze, his heart began to beat properly again. Fast and strong and just a little bit fluttery.

"You've grown a beard," she said softly, and he'd actually forgotten.

"Oh!" he reached up and ran a hand through it, scratching his chin. "Reckon I have. Sorry, I-"

"I like it."

She pursed her lips adorably before breaking eye contact and reaching for a bottle of a clear soap, meant for very delicate, damaged skin. Mesmerised, he watched her, trying to read her posture. When she straightened again, she reached for his chest, and he raised his hands to shoulder height, hovering there as he looked down to see what she was doing.

"This might burn a bit," she informed him, dabbing the liquid to her fingertips before running them gently down along the diagonal wound that marred him from left breastbone to just above his belly button.

He didn't mean to, but he hissed as her fingers feathered down, his skin stinging fresh, even with the mild soap she was using.

Her eyes darted back up to his, and it was the first real emotion he'd seen cross her features, since she'd found him, as she apologetically creased her brows.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"S'ok," he said, compelled to smile, relieved, down at her. She returned it with her own small smile, eyes shifting back to his chest again as she finished washing his wound clean. "Hermione?"

"Mm," she half-responded, half-sighed.

"I fucking missed you. A lot."

He saw her lips twitch, and she couldn't hide her grin from him as she finished with the soap, turning to place it back on the side of the tub.

She sighed heavily now and glanced her eyes slowly back up to his face. Without a word, she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together and bringing his knuckles up to her lips, closing her eyes.

"C'mere," he choked, tugging her hand until she stepped forward. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, trapping their joined hands between their chests as she dropped her forehead to his chin. It hurt, a bit, to have her wrist pressing against his wound the way it was, but he didn't care.

He closed his eyes and smiled, muscles going a bit slack as his arm slid down her wet, naked back. But she pulled away some then, and he opened his eyes again, looking down to see her holding their clasped hands to her own chest now, having relieved the pressure against his injury.

She was staring at his bearded chin, her eyes roaming slowly up along his jawline. Reaching her free hand up, she traced a path through the hair from his ear back down to his chin, with curious fingertips. Her lips turned gradually up into a full grin.

"I _really_ like this," she admitted, eyebrows lifting.

"Yeah?" he smirked, heart thudding against his ribs.

She bit her lip and met his eyes. God, he loved her.

"We should hurry up and fix you," she said, quietly, releasing his hand and stretching an arm behind his back for a handy bottle of dittany.

"I can reach this one, you know," he reasoned, glancing down at his chest. "You don't have to-"

"I want to. Gives me something to do to help," she explained, steadying her hand at the top of the gash down his body. "Sorry," she added, "this'll be worse than the soap."

"Yeah, I know. S'alright."

She tipped the bottle, allowing several drops of sparkling liquid to flow down his wound, tingling and burning, healing his tender flesh.

"How'd you know I was back?" he asked, partly for a distraction from the pain. "Did the front door wake you? I tried to be quiet, but I was sort of stumbling around when I came in…"

"I just knew you were here, in my sleep, I think," she said, releasing a few more drops of dittany.

He smiled a bit sadly at her, feeling both sorry for waking her and sorry for not being able to heal himself faster, before she found him. She didn't seem too upset, but he hated making her worry. And he knew, no matter what she told him, that she _did_ worry, and always would.

"You know I'd rather see you right away, when you come home," she said a bit shyly, "instead of sleeping while you clean up… especially when you're gone for bloody twenty-seven days..."

"I was afraid you'd be upset if you saw…" he trailed off, guilt clinging to him.

"Of course I never want to see you hurt," she said, closing the dittany bottle, satisfied with the progress of his healing skin, "but I know what you're doing's important. Always known that."

"He got away," Ron complained, thinking of the wizard they'd been trying to catch for more than three weeks. "After all that tracking, and we lost him."

"Just means you'll set something up to happen the next time you meet," she said, confidently, placing the bottle back behind him. "You'll get him."

"So sure?" he asked her, sceptically, a bit surprised by her casual dismissal.

"Ron," she said, meeting his eyes again at last, "you're amazing. You and Harry have-"

"-and you," he interrupted. Her lips twitched as she blinked at him.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

" _Whatever_ it is, Merlin knows you've helped us. We'd be dead about a thousand times if not for you."

She ran her hand lightly down his arm, raising gooseflesh.

"My _point_ is," she continued, pointedly, as he grinned at her again, "whatever happens, it's meant to be the way it is."

"Sounds too much like divination…"

She scoffed at him, mock offended by the mention of her least favourite subject.

"It's optimistic," she clarified. "You did that for me, you know. Made me optimistic."

"How?"

Her wispy fingers wrapped round his wrist, and he licked his lips.

"Thought it would never work out between us, didn't I," she confessed, though it wasn't much of a confession. He'd felt the same weight, the same pessimism for their future, for far too long, before they'd finally done something about it. "But it's what I wanted, more than anything, to be with you," she sniffed, "and then... I got it."

He reached up, weaving his hand into her hair, cupping the side of her head as he ducked a bit, water now falling off his fringe into his eyes, dripping to slide down her naked chest.

"More than anything?" he echoed at a near-whisper.

"You know that," she answered, breathless, staring inches up into his eyes.

He couldn't speak, lingering trouble in accepting his worth to her, after two years already of being shown, day after day, how much she loved him.

"I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered, clutching his wrist tighter, freeing a small bit of the worry he wished to shield her from.

"I'll always come back to you," he said, somewhat irrationally, but her reaction surprised him…

"Yeah," she said, turning her gaze away. "Ron, _honestly_ , why did you try to hide it from me? You wanted to let me sleep so you could heal yourself and come to bed like nothing had happened."

"Yeah, I know," he said, straightening up again. "I told you. I don't like to make you worry. I hate seeing you upset, particularly when I'm the cause of it. And the last time, when I broke my arm, it was bloody worse watching you cry over my bed than it was having the damn broken arm to begin with."

"No," she said, darting her eyes back to his again. "That was _much_ different. Imagine you're woken in the middle of the night by an urgent floo call telling you your emergency contact's in emergency, at St. Mungo's, and-"

"Emergency contact?" he interrupted, amused. "Is that a level up from boyfriend, then?"

"Well," she huffed, "how much good do you think it would do to have Harry listed, when you're both out getting yourselves into the same trouble all the time?"

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he corrected quickly. "You think I'd call on Harry to fix me? It's definitely you I want."

"I'm telling Harry you said you don't trust him," she teased.

"Oi!" he laughed. "You _know_ that's not it. I'd trust him for anything. But let's face it, you're always gonna be my first choice for that stuff."

She attempted to hide a proud grin before clearing her throat.

"We're off topic," she said. "The point is, no one would tell me exactly what was going on when you broke your arm, and I was terrified. The time between finding out you were hurt and seeing you for myself was bloody torture. But this is different, tonight. I knew, if you were home, that it either wasn't that bad… or, it was worse."

He swallowed, studying her watery eyes that wouldn't meet his now.

"Worse?"

"But when I saw you," she skipped on, "I knew it was fine."

"Hermione," he pressed, no trace of humour in his voice this time, "what do you mean 'worse'?"

She exhaled, closing her eyes.

"You mean…" he continued for her, swallowing again, "you think I'd come home if I was… dying and knew I couldn't be saved. I said I'd always come back, didn't I..."

She trembled, eyes clenched tightly shut, and he immediately wished he could take back the words he'd said.

"Can we stop?" she asked, in such a tiny, timid voice. He felt a rush of emotion wave over him, such love for her and sorrow for his thoughtless words. Of course she didn't want to hear him say it.

"Yeah, blimey," he said, quickly, gripping her shoulders. "M'sorry."

She shook her head, eyes still closed, but she leaned into him, and he wrapped her in his arms, her own arms circling his waist, flattening her chest against him. He dropped his nose to the top of her head, cursing his body for being so aroused by her physical presence when she was clearly so upset.

"Shouldn't have said that," he muttered, into her hair.

"But it's true, isn't it," she cried levelly, and he felt a fresh stab of remorse at the terrified tremor buried in her sweet voice. "Don't answer that."

"I won't," he mumbled, clutching her tighter. But, holding onto her, eyes closing, he felt himself sway slightly and reached behind her to press a palm to the far wall, steadying them. Though his mind was now racing, the rest of his body was quite exhausted.

He felt her pulling back, and he opened his eyes.

"Tired," he muttered at her curious expression.

"That makes sense," she smiled softly, pulling out of his embrace and raking her eyes down his body again, presumably for injuries they had missed.

He reached for the soap and began quickly lathering the rest of his skin at random, feeling her hands on him to help as he smoothed thick bubbles over every inch. Turning around, he pushed his face into the shower spray. And when he felt her arms tentatively wrapping around his waist from behind, he sighed and leaned his forehead against the tile wall directly in front of him, clutching her arms where they circled his stomach.

He felt her cheek against his back, her breasts on either side of his spine...

Lifting his head again, he turned over his shoulder, and she tilted up to find his gaze, blinking rapidly as water splashed down from his shoulders.

"Bed..." he mumbled, and she nodded, releasing him again and stepping back so he could shut off the water.

When he turned around to face her, she was stepping out of the tub, reaching for two towels hanging neatly on the rack along the wall. She handed him one, and he dried much too quickly, missing dripping spots and making her press her lips together when he shrugged, haphazardly re-hanging the towel and shuffling, completely naked, into the hallway and through to their bedroom.

All the lamps were out. Of course, she'd been sleeping when he'd arrived. But he felt an almost immediate sense of peace, blinking to adjust his eyes to the darkness, cut only by soft moonlight. His eyes skimmed over their bed, anticipating the wonderful feeling of no longer being on his feet as he took in the sight of their light blue sheets untucked and thrown back in haste, at his arrival.

And as he stepped closer, he noticed a streak of orange amidst the bedclothes, realising quickly that his Chudley Cannons blanket was twisted in with their usual quilt.

He'd put that particular blanket inside the trunk at the foot of their bed, when they'd moved in here. And he hadn't seen it since.

Until this moment.

"Were you cold?" he asked scratchily, as she moved up next to him, having partially redressed in one of his threadbare cotton shirts.

"No..." she started, confused. But when he reached out and clutched a corner of the Cannons blanket, holding it up for her to see, her eyes glowed more fiercely in the moonlight, and she looked away from him. "Oh. I just wanted it with me. It still smells like you..."

She climbed into bed quickly, not meeting his eyes again as he followed her.

"I'm sorry I was gone so long. Missed you like hell," he said softly, watching as she smiled gently up at him again.

"It's your job. It's not your fault."

He stretched out on his back, sighing as he relieved tense muscles, flexing his feet. Her eyes roamed down his body, and she pushed up onto her right palm, leaning on her hip. It was then that he really noticed it, with the glow from the window glinting behind her.

Whenever she dried her hair quickly, using only her wand, it fluffed up around her head in the most amazing chaos, nearly double its normal size, if that could be possible. He'd first noticed when they'd been hunting horcruxes, living in a tent, and she'd had no choice, no other way to fix it. But the discovery had made him feel a fondness that had begun to come more and more frequently for him then, whenever he'd thought of her.

So, he'd learned something new. She must have been using something special on her hair before, to make an attempt at taming it. But when he was offered a glimpse of the natural her, it was even more amazing than the nervous - and surprisingly self-conscious - way she had evidently been before.

He'd not thought her bushy, unruly curls could have ever been _more_ magnificent than they were before. But, he'd been wrong.

Now, he reached up and twirled a finger around a particularly long curl, twisting until it wrapped his pale, bony finger several times.

He met her eyes in the darkness, searching. Something was different tonight, than all the other times he'd come home. She was quiet... but had let him into a space he hadn't known she'd locked inside. And he couldn't quite shake away from the words she'd said in the shower, the way she knew him better than he'd known himself. He'd never consciously considered what she'd said, that he would come home if-

But she reached for his unoccupied right hand, tugging it across his body as he let her lead him. Opening his palm with her small fingers, she brought it to her chest, and his eyes rolled back slightly, lips parting as he sighed out a strangled breath, complying her silent request as he gently squeezed her breast in his hand, through the shirt she was wearing. Before he could react, she was reaching for his left hand, her twisted curl falling limp from his finger as he let her guide him again. She brought his hand higher and pressed the tips of his fingers to her lips, before lowering his hand to her chest to join its partner.

Her hands loosely slid to his wrists, and he splayed his fingers out, rotating his hands outward, thumbs positioned over hardened nipples, sliding them back and forth as she shuddered with pleasure, closing her eyes.

He moved, dazed, as if to sit up, but she stopped him, dropping a hand to his shoulder to push him gently back down, eyes locked on his. He slid his hands down her body, until only the very tips of his fingers were touching her chest. And then, fingers reaching further out to wrap around her ribs, he lifted his hands again, pushing her breasts up before covering them completely with both of his large palms.

Her breathing increased, shivering through her mouth. Slowly, her eyes moved down... over his scruffy, bearded face… lingering. Down the curve of his neck, to his chest. She paused there, licked her lips... and her hand followed her gaze, delicately running her fingers down the former path of the injury he'd arrived with - the one she'd healed.

She pushed up onto her knees, and his hands lost contact with her chest, falling away as she moved to climb over him, his heart beating fiercely as she straddled his thighs. His erection stretched against the front of her, up the outside of the too-big-for-her shirt she was wearing as she balanced by pressing her palms lightly to his stomach.

"Ron," she whispered, catching his eyes again, "I really, really missed you, too."

And he realised, immediately, that it was the first time she'd said it back, since he'd come home. Of course he'd known it was true, hadn't questioned that it would be. For _some_ reason, she always missed him. But this... hearing her say it so gently, her eyes on his, sitting on top of him, almost naked, holding him between her legs...

He exhaled heavily and gripped her hips, rubbing his thumbs along the creases at the tops of her thighs.

She pushed up higher, further onto her knees, leaned forward, and pressed her hands to his shoulders.

"Want you," she breathed.

"So much," he added.

He felt her impossibly warm, wet opening against the tip of his pulsing erection, and she lowered herself slowly, sucking in a breath as he exhaled sharply, gradually encased in her slick warmth. She stopped, halfway, and pushed her knees deeper into the mattress, spreading her legs further and sliding him all the way inside of her as she sat up again, all her weight forcing the insides of her thighs tight against his hips.

He groaned and accidentally bit the inside of his cheek, fingertips indenting the tops of her thighs.

"God, you feel amazing."

"I love you," she breathed, moving her hips back and forth, a small spasm of pleasure suddenly causing her to clench around him, deep inside.

He melted down into the mattress and exhaled a moan.

" _Fuck_ , love you..."

She reached up and ran her fingers through his beard, smiling.

He grinned back at her, holding her waist in both hands and beginning to move with her, pushing up deeper into her with each slow thrust. She smoothed her palms up and down his chest and stomach, eyes clinging tight to his until he couldn't stand it, reaching for the bottom hem of the shirt she was wearing and gathering it up her sides as she raised her trembling arms. He ripped the shirt off over her head just as she collapsed on top of him, flattening her now naked chest to his as he flung the shirt over the edge of the bed and wrapped both arms fiercely around her.

She pressed her open mouth to the side of his neck, and he closed his eyes, pleasurably focusing on the heat of her heavy breathing as he slid his hands down, pushing down against her arse to continue moving inside of her.

She pressed her knees, and the toes of her flexed feet, into the mattress, harder, rocking her body on top of him and sliding her right hand up over his chest to the side of his face, fingers tangling in the short, curled hairs of his beard.

She whispered his name, and he couldn't last like this, covered in her, after so many days - _weeks_ \- since they'd last been together.

"Hermione..." he breathed, her back arching with each movement she made, creating perfect friction just above where they were joined.

A breathy moan escaped between her lips, and she clenched him tight, biting lightly just behind his ear as she began to tremble uncontrollably, his own orgasm following immediately. He shuddered and clutched her tighter still, reveling in the rapid pounding of her heart against his chest.

And this, he realised, could be the thing he missed the most, when he was away from her - those moments afterward when neither would move or speak, holding each other as they synchronised their breathing with one another. She finally raised herself off of him, only long enough to straighten her legs and lie down properly, tucked against his side, head resting on the crux of chest and left shoulder. He stroked her tangled hair, and her fingers feathered up the side of his neck, breaking his overly sensitive skin out in sheets of goosebumps.

"Oh my god, you haven't even kissed me yet," she suddenly laughed, lifting her head from his chest to stare down at him, smiling, the corners of her eyes creased and narrow.

"What?" He blinked, surprised at the thick raspiness of his own voice. He cleared his throat and shook his head against his pillow.

She raised her eyebrows at him, and he realised she was right. He laughed with her then, gripping the back of her neck.

"Well, that's ridiculous..." he murmured, and he tugged her down to his lips, eyes slipping shut and face tingling with heightened sensations.

Her tongue ran between his parted lips, and he met her there, a soft echo of teasing, a living battle he'd become as happy to lose as to win. Her fingers were in his beard again, and he flexed his toes, rolling their tangled bodies to the side as she began to breathe in tiny, throaty gasps, those half-sleepy sounds that delighted every part of him.

When they separated, she remained too close to properly see, in the dark, vision blurred. But then, she sighed, moving back enough to meet his eyes.

"Sorry I was so upset before, in the bath," she whispered, her eyes glowing as he gazed across the pillow at her, stroking his fingers lightly up and down her cheek.

"Rubbish. Nothing to feel sorry about," he said raspily, licking his lips.

"I know it's silly, but... sometimes I'm a bit irrational when it comes to you."

He smirked lazily across at her, tucking a cold foot between her shins.

"Probably true," he teased, "but I seem to recall acting just a bit irrational about you as well..."

"Oh?" she grinned, and he sniffed, preparing for the rest of her retort. "I thought hooking up with the first witch you saw after discovering I'd kissed a bloke two years prior was perfectly rational."

"Would you like a list of irrational things _you_ did that year?" he offered, grinning back.

"Spare me," she muttered, grin faltering.

"Owl in tomorrow," he sighed. "Stay home with me."

"Don't worry," she smiled, all traces of the past fluttering away. "They never expect me to come in the day after you get back."

"Smart."

Falling silent, she studied his face, as she had done before, in that careful way that had made him so nervous at first, so self-conscious. But now, understanding, in some small part at least, how much he meant to her, he relaxed completely and stared comfortingly back, re-memorising the curves of her jaw and cheeks, the arch of her brows, that tiny freckle just at the edge of her hairline.

"I really missed you," she managed through a strangled half-cry, and he gripped her hand, pulling it up to rest their laced fingers between their chests. "We haven't been apart for that long since I finished at Hogwarts."

She was right. He hadn't considered it before, had only noticed that time had stretched until he'd felt rather empty.

"Don't want to do that again," he said firmly.

She smiled, in a way that he wanted to fight, because he knew what she was thinking. She didn't think they had a choice. If he had to go, he had to go. She'd tell him she missed him, but she'd never complain. Not in a way that made him feel responsible… like she thought he could do anything differently.

But his desire to swear to her that this was different… It was a new addition to that feeling of loneliness he put up with whenever he was away. And it wasn't only that. Not nearly. The world had paused, and he'd considered lots of things he'd never thought clearly about before.

Something was changing.

* * *

The puncture was deep. Too deep. Stumbling back, he almost immediately accepted the truth. The wide blade had gone all the way through him, blood gushing from his middle, down the back of his trousers, the fronts of his legs... and he was already swimming near brilliant blackness, creeping at the corners of his eyes.

He could risk it, because it wasn't really a risk at all. Clutching his wand in his trembling hand, he thought of her, the warmth of her arms around him as the world turned cold. And, as if already separating from the living, he distantly heard the sound of his own disapparition.

He was suddenly standing at the foot of their bed, searching for her eyes as she sat upright, clutching sheets to her chest. Anguish like he'd never before experienced washed through every part of him, as he saw the moment where she understood the truth. Her eyes filled with tears that would not spill, and she crawled mutely down the bed, toward him.

But though grief surrounded him, it began to quietly ease to something entirely different. Her hands on his chest, fists clenched in his shirt, dragging blood-soaked cotton higher, in order to view the entry point of his fatal wound... And he felt overcome, by _this_ \- being with her now, knowing that however short, his life had come to a startling conclusion: he had everything he could ever want, _need_ … and he was more than satisfied.

The only fear that existed for him now was in leaving her behind. He knew that their separation was only in body, never in soul, but the thought of her physically here without him...

He had one chance to make her understand, to hold onto her life, the one he valued so much higher than his own.

She had to go on, to be amazing. Who she was. Who he knew, so well... so startlingly well.

He managed a smile, as her tears fell at last, a breath away from him as he spoke...

"Make it good, Hermione. Gonna change the world..."

And as his body slumped, his vision blurred red with the sight of his own blood, soaking them both from the waist down, her palms coated, fingers dripping...

Her sudden, agonised screams vibrated through his dying bones.


End file.
